The Age-Old Question
by SaraiEsq
Summary: Just how old IS John Gage anyway?


**The Age-Old Question**

"_This sandwich is made with secret ingredients. … The recipe to this sandwich was given to me by an old Winnebago Indian. It was an ancient tribal secret handed down from father to son. They used to eat this stuff all winter long. They were in fantastic shape. … They also lived to be fantastic old ages, too. In fact the guy who gave me the recipe to this sandwich lived to be 114 years old himself. And he'd still be alive today if he wasn't hit by a bus coming home from his girlfriend's house at three o'clock in the morning." _

– "_Heavyweight" (Season 3), written by Kenneth Dorward and directed by Dennis Donnelly._

* * *

_Well you know it's impolite __**1950**__ to ask someone __**1945**__ how old __**1949**__ they are. So please __**1952**__ refrain from __**1948**__ so doing._

– _Randolph Mantooth, when asked what year he was born (interview posted on www DOT johnnysgreenpen DOT com)_

* * *

+===+ / +====

"I, uh, don't know what to tell you, Cap," John Gage said, lying through his teeth. "It must be some kind of mix up. One of those computer errors, maybe, like when the credit card company screwed up my bill?" _Or an I'm-too-distracted-by-Cecelia-to-fudge-my-DOB error. Why is it always a woman who gets me into trouble?_

"I have to admit you don't look like you're the age this notification says you are," Hank Stanley said with a chuckle. "Still, if you can pull out your birth certificate, we can get all of this straightened out. I had a devil of a time trying to convince the guy over in Fire Administration that it was a mistake. Kept talking about lawyers and liability. As soon as this crossed his desk, he was ready to have you pulled from active duty."

"Pulled from duty? Because of this?" John waved the piece of paper wildly, voice rising just a bit. _If I couldn't do the job, I'd understand but!_

"Hey, who's being pulled from duty?" Chet asked from the office doorway.

"No one, Kelly," Cap said briskly, planning to wave his lineman on with that bare reassurance.

"Mind your own business, Chet," Gage replied at the same time.

"Oh-ho! What have you done this time, Gage?" Chet rocked back on his heels, ready to take advantage of the chance to tease Johnny. "Been flirting with the wrong – uh, sorry." The stern look on Cap's face dissuaded him from proceeding and had him reversing course abruptly.

"John, we'll get this straightened out," Hank said once Chet had disappeared. "Just bring your birth certificate in."

"Well, that might be a problem, Cap. Finding it, uh, I mean." _Well, finding one with the __correct__ year, that is_, Johnny thought to himself.

+===+ / ++===

Two days later, Johnny stood on Roy's front porch, fidgeting. In his hands was a peace offering – breakfast from Mario's Diner for the entire DeSoto family. He hoped it would be enough to smooth over the ruffled feelings he knew he'd caused.

He'd spent most of the last thirty-six hours searching through every piece of paper in his apartment. He'd found his birth certificate alright, the _real_ one, but it wouldn't do him any good in this situation. Somewhere he had the packet of information he'd used to apply to the department, which would include documentation of his, uh, current date of birth. Getting a duplicate could be tricky or, at least, time-consuming. At two o'clock in the morning, John had finally remembered storing maybe half-dozen boxes of records and mementos at Roy's during a move about a year ago.

The document he needed had to be there, it had to be.

Gage had called his partner as early as he dared on a Saturday morning and was roundly chastised for his indiscretion by Joanne before she handed the phone to her husband. "I'm sorry, Roy, I know how early it is," he apologized. "It's just that I need to get something out of the boxes I stored at your place. If I can't find it, then I'll have to make a quick trip out of town."

"Where?"

"Back to the rez," Johnny admitted reluctantly, then forged ahead. "So, you see, I either need to find it or hit the road. Tell you what. I'll bring over breakfast for everyone and then I'll search the boxes and be outta your way before you know it."

"Okay, Junior," Roy said with a sigh. "C'mon over."

Now, less than an hour later, Gage waited on the porch for someone to come to the door. He pasted a contrite yet charming smile on his face when he heard the deadbolt being unlocked. The door swung open slowly and Joanne stood in the doorway, fluffy pink robe pulled tightly around her.

"Johnny," she said neutrally. _Oh, boy, she is really upset._

"Good morning, Joanne. I'm really sorry about this and I promise I'll – ."

"Just give me the coffee," she interrupted, reaching out for the food. "The boxes are in the attic."

"The attic?" Johnny repeated, heart sinking. The access to the attic was in one of the bedrooms. Little Jenny's bedroom to be exact. Barring some amazing feat of stealth, it was unlikely he could get into the attic without waking her; if he woke her, it could be very difficult to get away without hurting her feelings.

"Yup," she confirmed, a spiteful little smile flitting across her face. _That'll teach you to ruin my Saturday morning romp with Roy. I bought a new nightie just for the occasion, too._

+===+ / +++==

Johnny let himself into the little girl's bedroom quietly. The frillier pinks were starting to give way to more mature styles; it wouldn't be too long before entering her room without permission would be an intrusion and invasion of her pre-teen privacy. For now, however, she was still in single digits and it was still appropriate for Uncle Johnny to be there while Jenny slept, face untroubled and innocent.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully pulled down the stairs to the attic, wincing at the creak and the subtle _sprong_ of the springs stretching. Once he locked the stairs in place, he glanced at Jenny quickly – still asleep – then tiptoed up into the ceiling and flipped on the conveniently located attic light.

For the most part, the DeSoto attic was a model of efficiency and organization. Christmas decorations, including a set of giant candy canes for the yard, two small artificial trees and numerous wreaths wrapped in clear plastic, and several neatly-labeled boxes of ornaments, garland, nativity sets, stockings, lights, fake snow, and miscellaneous, were located next to the fall decorations featuring last year's oversized green and black mutant spider and the sickly gray webbing the monster had lived in for the better part of October. A very large teddy bear with a faded red ribbon around its neck – a gift from Roy to Joanne in junior high – sat drunkenly in an antique rocking chair that had belonged to Roy's great-grandmother, tucked in with an old quilt made by Joanne's great-aunt. Other antiques from both Roy and Joanne's families were stashed at the far end of the room, next to the mementos and awards from their childhoods. Financial records and other important documents more than three years old were neatly stored in banker boxes along one wall, accessible but out of the way.

It only took Johnny a few minutes to locate his own belongings – a mismatched set of cardboard storage containers sporting J. GAGE in bold but messy red letters – and he set to work. He grabbed the most promising box and slid it over the floor to the light, squatting down next to it and rifling through it rapidly. The fourth box proved to have the packet he was looking for – _Los Angeles County Fire Department, 1968, application J. Gage_ – but he was dismayed when the one document he needed was missing. Johnny searched the fifth box but found mostly newspaper clippings about his 'high school' career as well as some old books which brought back fond memories of his earlier educational endeavors.

When he'd gone through the last box, he rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. _I'd better hit the road_, he thought tiredly. John shoved the box back into place beside the others and took one last look around the room, in case there was one more box somewhere.

"Uncle Johnny!" came a bright voice from the hole in the attic floor and Jenny's head popped up into the attic. The fireman jumped at her voice but quickly crossed over to her, securing her from the ladder, and giving her a hug.

"Good morning, sweetie," he said kindly. "Did I wake you?" He was relieved when she shook her head.

"Why are you in the attic, Uncle Johnny?"

"Oh, I needed to find some papers I stored here a while ago."

"Did, did you find them?"

"No, sweetie, I didn't." Jenny's face dimmed and her expression took on a tinge of guilt. "What's wrong?"

"Were the papers _really_ important?" she asked fretfully.

"Yes, they are important." _Wait, did she just say 'were'? 'Were' as in past tense?_

"I'm sorry, Uncle Johnny."

"For what?" he asked, with a sinking feeling.

+===+ / ++++=

When John pulled off the interstate sixteen hours later, the sun was just sinking into the mountains which cast huge shadows across the land he'd grown up on. He turned onto a two-lane highway that had seen better days and would take him into the heart of the reservation. The land felt empty in a way that would have been soothing if he'd found it in California on a long weekend, but here and now, it only made him feel small.

_Nothing quite like coming home_, he thought tiredly, _to make you feel like a kid again, no matter how old you __really__ are._ Thirty minutes later, he turned into the driveway of his parents' ranch. The door to the rambling wood shingle house opened before he even stopped his truck completely and his stepmother came out to greet him. "John, welcome home!" she exclaimed as he got out and pulled him into a hug which he returned warmly.

"Ruth, it's good to see you," he said as he pulled back from her embrace. The woman looked to be about the same age as Johnny, although it was difficult to tell, and was as beautiful as ever. "How is _Ate_ (father)?" He stretched his back and legs, glad to be done traveling for the night.

"Good, good," she replied. "He and your brothers are bringing a few cattle down from the high range. I expect them anytime now." From the distance, both heard a high-pitched _yi-yi-yip_ and turned toward the sound expectantly. A half-dozen riders were driving about a hundred head of cattle in the direction of the livestock pens located downwind of the house. One raised his arm and waved a bright red bandana in a short arc over his head, signaling.

"On time, as usual, I see," Johnny said with a broad smile. "I'll go open the gate for them."

"And I'll start setting out supper," Ruth said with a matching smile, eager as always to see her husband of twenty years. Whether he'd been gone a few days or a few hours, having him back beside her filled her with contentment and peace.

+===+ / +++++

Around noon the next day, John hugged his father good-bye and climbed back into his truck. Duly authorized copies of a birth certificate proclaiming 1950 as his year of birth were safely tucked into the overnight bag on the floorboard, one of which would be placed in his safe deposit box as soon as possible. He waved as he passed his younger brothers working the cattle they'd brought in last night, for a moment wishing he could stay and wrangle the animals with them, then settled in for the drive back to Los Angeles and back to his life as the junior paramedic at Station 51.

+===+ / =++++

"Cap?" Gage stuck his head into the office, documentation in hand. "I have my birth certific – ." He broke off when he saw Roy and Captain Stanley, both looking grave.

"John, come in," Hank said. "Shut the door." Johnny did as he was told, sinking down into a chair as he caught sight of the Kool-aid stained documents on the desk between his partner and his captain. Apparently, little Jenny _hadn't_ destroyed the documents but merely damaged them when she was illicitly playing in the attic a few months back. "Roy brought these in," Cap said and handed them over to his junior paramedic.

Johnny paged through the stiff, pink-tinted birth certificates, noting the dates: 1945, 1948, 1949, 1950, 1952 and – the last one – 1905. He stared at that one for a long time, fingering the edge of the page. "Cap, Roy, I don't know what to tell you," he said finally, meeting the eyes of his friends.

"The truth?" Roy said quietly, not sure what to make of the variety of 'official' documents bearing his best friend's name. He'd been surprised, more than surprised, when Joanne had produced them after hearing what Jenny had confessed to doing. The assortment of dates had convinced Joanne the documents were part of an elaborate practical joke, not real documents. Roy wasn't so sure.

"You're not gonna like it," Gage said dryly, then sighed. "_This_ is my real birth certificate." He handed it to Stanley. "The others were issued by the tribal authorities as, as the need arose. Just like this one," he said indicating the newly acquired document he'd brought into the office. "The tribe has been doing it for, uh, a long time."

Cap took the document gingerly, almost afraid to look at it. "John, you're not serious, are you?" he finally said. "This says you were born in 1905. Nineteen-oh-five. That would make you – ." He stopped, unable to complete the sentence, mind boggled by the arithmetic.

"Seventy, come August," John affirmed. He grinned then, struck by the humor of the situation. "I don't look too bad for an old man, do I?"

"How can you be seventy years old?!" Roy half-shouted, leaning toward his partner. "You don't look a day over – ." He waved his hand in agitation, nearly taking out Cap who was staring open-mouthed at Johnny.

"About thirty, right?" John said, guessing the end of the sentence. He could expect to look about the same age for at least two more decades, if his father and uncles were any gauge. His father had acquired a few gray hairs but still had the body and vigor of a much younger man.

"I was going to say twenty-five," Roy said tightly.

"Alright, alright, twenty-five," he said soothingly. "I don't look my age."

"I'll say," Hank said with a sigh. "What am I going to do?"

John let the silence rest undisturbed in the office for a few moments, watching Stanley pick up one birth certificate after another and occasionally shaking his head. "Cap? Can I make a suggestion?"

"Go ahead," he replied distractedly. _Seventy. Three score and ten. No wonder John has such old eyes at times._

"Just – let it ride. For now."

"What do you mean, let it ride?" Stanley's eyes narrowed as they fastened on his not-so-young-after-all paramedic's face.

"I'll take this down to HQ in the morning," John explained, indicating his 1950 birth certificate, "and that will satisfy them, without you getting involved." He paused. "That'll give you more time to decide what you want to do. And I'm sure you've got lots of questions for me."

"That's putting it mildly, John," Hank replied. Before he could consider it further, the tones sounded, calling out several stations for a warehouse fire.

Johnny tensed, locking eyes with his captain. "Cap?" _Trust me, trust me, trust me_, he pleaded silently_._

"We'll discuss this later. Right now, we've got work to do," he said and led the way out of his office, nearly colliding with Stoker who had acknowledged the call. _Whatever his age is, John Gage is a helluva firefighter-paramedic._

Roy grabbed Johnny's arm tightly as they followed. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, Johnny. Don't think you're gonna get out of it any time soon," he growled at his partner.

"Wouldn't dream of it, _Junior_," Gage quipped, flashing the other man a brilliant smile. "Hey, you want me to drive?"

+===+ / +===+

_So, a few months back, a briefly-posted story which had Johnny joining the department when he was sixteen or some such drew some criticism, with reviewers pointing out 1) even in the 1960s and 1970s, fire departments actually did check out things like the age of the applicant and 2) that story had been done before, more than once. That, plus the inconsistency in Randolph Mantooth's DOB plus Johnny's comments in 'Heavyweight' got me thinking._

_And thus this one-shot was born. _

_I do this for fun, not profit; the characters are not mine, the mistakes (without exception) are._


End file.
